im•per•cep•tive

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Being pretty.

"Elijah, are you good looking?" I ask him, but only out of pure curiosity.

My grandfather says to never stop asking questions and if you don't get an answer the first time keep asking.

So that's what I'll do, if things don't go my way.

"Uhhh, I guess. I'm not really sure if you want honesty." He says.

"Well don't you see yourself in the mirror all the time?" I ask as I reach for the wall and run my hand over it, carefully taking in every small bump, edge, and dent in the small area.

"I think looks are always up for debate." He said carefully.

Well this is new. Evidently being ugly doesn't stop at just your voice.

"Am I pretty?" I ask and there is a pause.

A thinking pause.

Looks are always up for debate.

"I think so," He says softly.

"Pretty as in stopping a whole room of people or pretty as in just meh?"

"You are not meh and I can't lie. I have never seen anyone who has walked into a room and stopped everyone. I think that only happens in books and movies." He said and I hear him move around a little in the bean bag chair he was sitting in.

"If you saw me out of the blue, a total stranger, would you make an effort to try and talk to me?"

He doesn't take time to think this time.

"Maybe. But I don't really make an effort to talk to anyone."

"Well, you make an effort to talk to me."

"Well, you aren't just anyone to me."

I felt like I was dipped all over again.

I felt red.